


Tear You Apart

by kingaleksandr



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: -xmen theme but lustful-, Begging, Bondage, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, In Public, Jealousy, Light BDSM, M/M, bc the friend part is just too hard, if that wasnt obvious, oblivious idiots feat poRn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-12-25 23:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingaleksandr/pseuds/kingaleksandr
Summary: Remy loves to get under Pietro's skin, enjoys nothing more than watching the man simmer with rage. He's determined to see what lies beyond Pietro's boiling point, but he wasn't prepared for what he got.Aka Remy is annoying and Pietro decides that the best way to manage anger is to fuck.





	1. shut your dirty mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can someone get these boys anger management classes

It is easy to insist that the first time ever happened. 

Blind rage can make the clearest of minds turn foggy, controlled actions turning into unpondered impulses. No one is quite themselves when under the influence of anger. Honestly, Remy couldn't even recall what the raised voices and petty insults were sparked by - it barely mattered when he was neck deep in a feud he chanced losing. Whatever intellectual opinion he had backed was forgotten for the sake of simply arguing. The adrenaline of a fight is intoxicating, addicting - an argumentative relationship is, in someway, stable. It’s familiar, a promise of stress relief.

Stress relief. That’s a good way to explain it.

Pietro was a fiery little man when irked. Pushing his buttons was too entertaining - watching his temperature quickly upswing and the crease of his brow indent almost comically brought great pleasure to Remy. Knowing that he could crawl under the untouchable Quicksilver's skin in a way that makes his foot tap and his skin redden was all too satisfying. Pietro could run, but he couldn't help getting irritated at Remy's backhanded compliments and conceited comments - there was just too much to enrage him. 

The instance in question took place on a spring afternoon, the warming weather shining bright, the pair residing alone in the Serval apartment - the others choosing to soak up the sun before winter's influence turned the weather pitiful again. Perhaps it were unfamiliar heat that pushed the Sokovian into the new territory of anger management, or maybe the otherwise empty household they fought in - no Cypher there to speak the correct dialects that were to calm them down. Remy would most probably spend the rest of his life pondering which differentiating factor landed them in this situation. 

They were shouting - the spoken words held no real meaning or purpose other than to defeat the other, to dominate the conversation. Remy considered an argument well won when Pietro eventually threw up his hands and called him some form of impossible before speeding off to his pouting pad. He couldn't deny it - Pietro was god damn adorable when he's all frustrated and wound up, like just one little flick on the nose would send him into a blind fury. Remy wanted nothing more than to find the button that would unleash the anger the other was walking away from - his mind often imagined what it would be like to peer down at Quicksilver with a smirk whilst he beat at Remy's chest in exasperation, being able to surround his slender wrists in a iron hold as if he were an infant having a tantrum. See? I'm so much bigger than you, so much stronger. 

Though...that's not quite how it played out.

They were confined between the doorways leading to their bedrooms - Remy pestering the latter even as he attempted to retire. The taller loomed over him, cockily leaning against the frame of Pietro's room - one arm folding over the fixture top as he tilted his head against his bicep. A coy smirk coiling around his words. 

“Aw, just gon’ scamper on back to your hidey-hole without a proper fight?” he jested, relishing in the way Pietro tensed up, the curl of his hand tightening on the door handle. 

Gambit barely had time to register how close Quicksilver spinning around to face him put them, yet alone process Pietro ferociously gripping the collar of his open flannel and crashing Remy into the opposite wall. 

“God, shut the fuck up” 

The kiss was mostly tongue and teeth - Remy's back had barely grazed wood before Pietro's lips stapled him against the surface, hands still tightly wound into his shirt; forced to fold so to accommodate Pietro's shorter height.

Gambit couldn't just let him get away with winning, could he?

Any shock Remy sported dissipated in favour of gluing his hand to Pietros hip - the other winding into white locks to yank his head back (attempting to ignore the half-groan-half-yelp that escaped his throat) - and using the leverage to force him back against his own door with a thud. Pietro was unrelenting, capturing his lower lip between his own teeth and cruelly clamping down, provoking a painful gasp from the latter - Remy took the shorters chin between his thick fingers, once wrapped ever-so tightly around snow strands and gripped tightly onto his cheeks, biting down harder in retaliation. 

Any and all blood that now leaked from Quicksilver's throbbing lips was well deserved. 

Pietro's cry of pain quickly evolved into that of a choked moan as Remy gave the same consequence to the pale of his neck, sandpaper stubble scraping against his throat, and his solid thigh pressed confidently between Pietro's own. Remy felt Pietro's hands loosen, though in favour of letting them scrape a path around his ribs; the small of his back collecting crescent nail carvings. The hand wrapped around Pietro's hip began to absentmindedly wander up his yellow hoodie. 

“You're such a bastard” Pietro stumbled over each word, moaning sinfully through snarled teeth and creased brows. While his features were furrowed in frustration, he still worked himself into a rhythm against Remy's leg - spoiling any sign of outrage he failed to front. 

Smugness sweeped into his smile, still sucking spoils into white skin. He raised his lips to Pietro's ears, devilishly nipping at his earlobe.

“Maybe - you seem to like it, though” 

Pulling away and beholding the sight in front of him, Remy was suddenly aware of how tight his jeans felt. 

Pietro’s cheek was splayed against the door, breath both shallow and frantic, a flush of pink dusting across his cheeks and spreading onto his neck. Remy's curious fingers had rucked up the fabric of his Serval hoodie, as well as ravaging the uniform slick of his hair. Burning Bruises and bitemarks blasphemously bloomed against visible patches of milky skin - Pietro would probably kill Remy later on, though it was worth it to see Pietro so positively... wrecked. 

Despite the pleasure that plastered itself all over Pietro's body, his frosty brows were still puckered together in a scowl. A new challenge offered behind those half-lidded bedroom eyes, and Remy licked his lips just to watch Pietro hastily follow the action - quirking a Brown brow in acceptance.

Quicksilver swiftly used one hand to twist the door knob, whilst his other wrapped two fingers into Remy's belt loop and carelessly hauled him backwards into his room. The entrance slamming behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come scream w me on tumblr: noscrawler.tumblr.com


	2. choke yourself to sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> god i wish i could write porn without being shy

The second time was less excusable than the first. A first time is often unsure, it's unknown territory, easier to brush off with I didn't know any better. Second times are an informed decision, you somewhat understand the consequence of the outcome. 

New York City's outskirts were impossibly cold. The pair found themselves landed here after an in-battle freight meant Quicksilver was forced to whisked them away to avoid the worse.

Tall skyscrapers stood proud in the setting distance, clouding the skyline with business - nearer buildings were shoddy and short in comparison, the red stonewalls intimidated by the gigantic metal that seemed softened into melody by the distance. Metal-clad workhouses were coated in overlapping-layers of graffiti art, and the two were now loitering at a dusted roadside - regarding the rundown town they had hastily ended up in. 

Tempestuously tearing himself away from his teammate's grip, pettily pushing at Pietro's slender shoulders for emphasis of exasperation, Remy began to trudge out of the road and into a ill-lit alleyway. 

“I almost had him! I don’ need your help!” he spat, malice laced into the cadence of each word, mumbling the rest of his frustrations at his heavy feet. 

As the sun dropped to its knees, it dribbled streaks of electric Purples and Pinks spilling into the blackening sky, much like a neon sign found in the Vegas nights. Remy stood central of a Magenta Halo, Violet and Amethyst clung to the hollows of his face, and Pietro had to remind himself to suck in a breath or be caught ogling. 

“You were an Ace of Spades away from being mince meat” he scolded, pointing at Remy accusingly. “You should be thanking me!” 

He watched the taller man's shoulders jerk along with the scoff that he released, turning around just to push his hand dismissively at Pietro. The latter took a glance at the distance to collect himself before trudging after the former. 

“Well thank you, Mista’ Hero. Once again, your impulsiveness has landed us in the goddamn middle of nowhere.” 

Remy's coat creased deep valleys into his shoulder as Pietro gripped onto it, hauling the larger man around as if he were as light as a feather. They were toe to toe now, Pietro jabbed his pointer finger into the taller's chest as he snapped up to him. 

“It was after you, Remy. The entire time, it's target was set on you. Every single damn attack was aiming for that thick skull of yours. I brought you here because I know you would have been too damn reckless to care.” 

He let his fist be caught between Remy's strong palm, and chose to ignore how hair fingers were pressed against his pulse point. So what if his pulse was rushing faster than he could run? It's not like it was any of Remy's business anyway.

Locked in a bitter stare, blood-red irises holding Pietro at a knife point, the two seemed to ponder each other for a moment. Remy's grasp seemed to only tighten, threatening to ruin slender wrists as he ruined icy collarbones all those months ago. His own steel eyes were unrelenting, the familiar daring gaze holding its own. The infamous rivalry of Red and Blue.  
He could only hope that the hidden plea of safety, wrapped between rancorous rivalry and furrowed brows, remained undetected by Gambit.

Pietro watched in slow motion as Remy's digits uncurled from his wrist, instead landing underneath his chin and baring his neck as if to take a chunk out. Quicksilver couldn't control the trembling breath he sucked in - he hadn't noticed how blood-red seemed black under absence of light. He witnessed Remy's rage converted into predatory stare. 

Once again white locks found themselves splayed over the wall, only slowly this time - Gambit merely had to press slightly against Pietro's throat to guide him backwards, the pressure tightening until he was sure that the fabric of his Serval uniform would become bobbled as he squirmed over the rough-brick building. Alright - if Remy wanted to feel as if he had control like this, there was no way he was gonna complain. 

He spoke not a word. Not even as Gambit's entire hand wrapped completely around his throat, not when his fingers flexed as Pietro gulped. He could only watch as Remy inched impossibly closer, hot breath fanning onto Pietro's cheeks, and whispered with a sneer saved only for your worst enemies. 

“I ain't your fair maiden, darlin. I don' need your bravado” 

The clamp around his throat tightened. Whether Gambit intended for it to be threatening barely mattered when he felt his stomach curl with excitement. Remy continued his reprimanding Pietro despite the latters breaths becoming heavier against his lips. 

“I swear on god, if you ever try that shit again I'll hand you a Two of Hearts guaranteed to blow you back into Sokovia. You got that, Cher?” 

He looked ravenous in the shadows. The royal purple canvas that Remy painted against did nothing to soften his features, creating only a contrast between his intimidating eyes and the plum clouds. Quicksilver felt somewhat like a trapped piece of prey, and though it would take a shove and 1 second of sprint to escape from his vulture, his limbs seemed to be pinned under that spell. 

In all honesty, Pietro was definitely going to ignore that threat if the situation called for it - no amount of threatening consequence from Remy was ever going to persuade him to listen. Nonetheless, he still gasped out an affirmative just to play along. 

“Good boy.”

The vice grip began to slack, and a coy sentence began to form at the tip of Pietro's tongue - though he could barely contemplate forming a single, coherent and relevant word...

...Not as he watched Gambit drop to his knees and begin to fiddle with the zipper of Pietro's uniform. Time seemed to move so much slower than Pietro was used to, his brain short circuited as his dick registered the sight of Remy on his knees, and all he could manage to blurt out was a pathetic...

“What are you doing?” 

Remy took his time answering, unraveling the suit just enough from his body before sarcastically replying. 

“Just thanking my White Knight on my knees” 

There was no containing the quiet moan that slipped from his lips. Pietro felt his body flush with hot shame, though he seemed the embarrassment worth it just for the cocky smirk that tugged at Remy's lips. God damn, he forgotten how good confidence looked when spread across that stubbled face. 

It was there, hidden in the shade of a run-down inn, that the pair allowed the second time to happen. 

 

Its fine. Pietro rationalised, his fingers winding a tight fist around brown locks and his mouth falling open. It won't become a problem. This will be the last time. 

 

It became a pass time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come scream w me on tumblr: noscrawler.tumblr.com


	3. but be advised, participation is required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wowe pietro really needs to chill and gambit is g r e a s y

“You have a hickey on your neck.” 

As Pietro twisted to face his sister, his cold palm came up to clasp over the side of his neck. He promptly realised that he, in fact, did not have any evidence of Gambit’s presence left on his body as he met Lorna's smug smirk. 

“I hate you” he whined, dropping the heavy weight of his arm back to his side. Annoyance did it's best to conceal any embarrassment, though no amount of scrunched nose or knitted brows could conceal the blood rushing to his face. Stubbornly facing the burning pans set on the stove, he watched pancakes sizzle with an intensity -as if they were the most enthralling movie ever created. Any excuse to tear away from his sister's shit eating smile. He made a mental note to bring up the girl she snuck out of her apartment a month ago. 

“Knew you were too 'lax to not have gotten laid. I'm just happy you're not doing yoga” she jested. Pietro offered nothing more than a murmured reply. 

Jets of light streamed through gigantic glass panels,and into the living area, casting static shadows onto the ceiling. A short glimpse out of the aperture would present the concrete heaven of corporate buildings and businesses to the beholder - a beaming sun just high enough to begin waking up its inhabitants.

The kitchen was lit purely by sunlight - hanging utensils shone under solar scrutiny, laminate flooring warm to lightly tread upon. Sunup silence was sacred, not intimidating or oppressive like it's midnight counterpart; universe and man existed in mutual harmony, if only for an hour. The Maximoffs were the only two awake, it seemed - the morning contentment now broken. 

He stubbornly watched from the corner of his eyed as Lorna joined him in the kitchen, grabbing mustard-yellow mug whilst summoning the coffee jug to serve her. Pietro hastily flipped the last of his batter out onto his plate, smothered his breakfast with syrup and sped to the dining table. His sister arrived shortly after him, settling into the chair opposite and taking a long sip from her drink. 

“I'm happy you're moving on.” she offered promptly. 

“Nope. Absolutely not. I'm not going this right now.” He replied, suddenly finished with his pancakes and already heading for the door.

“Do I atleast get to know his name? Little sister rights?” She huffed, peering over the back of her chair to watch silver hair disappear through the door frame - only to whizz back briefly. 

“Half-sister” he reminded, and sped away once more. 

“...Ouch” 

Defeated, Lorna sighed. Pietro always has to make normal conversation harder than it had to be, huh? She took another sip of coffee, and decided to flick through the daily newspaper. 

 

“Well, s’nice ta’ see speedy Gonzalez is awake.” A voice grumbled, staggering into blinding sunlight, a large arm shielded over tired eyes. Half lidded, half present, and half dressed Remy Lebeau padded barefoot across the clear-glass floor, a beast-like roar possessing his body, and prepared a mug of coffee. He seemed to reject all sign of daylight, like a robed, nocturnal creature; the heart mug in his hand only contrasting his disgruntled features. 

“One of us has to be” Lorna commented, quirking a brow up at his undead form before returning to her reading.

“Not on a free day, cher” He mumbled gruffly, hazily trudging to the sofa and collapsing into it, absent of grace. 

The household slowly awoke, one by one. Volume slowly inclined, the padding of feet became more confident, and hours began to creep past. Doug appeared next, emerging to grab an apple before taking a seat aside Remy. Danger had sat herself at the table with Lorna, and Warlock found his place beside her - enthusiastically chatting with a fervour forbidden during the morn. Life now boomed through the atmosphere, clinking cups and scraping seats filling the air; the day of rest had begun. 

 

Pietro was determined to avoid Remy as much as possible. If speeding around the apartment complex and becoming reclusive was today's solution, then socialising be damned. 

It had been two weeks since the affair in the outskirts yet the threateningly tension remained constant; begrudgingly working with childish competition, clashing constantly over topics otherwise uncared for. They disagreed simply to disagree, just on principle, and it seemed to only worsen as the instances began. Insults seemed ruthless now, more capable of slicing self esteem and of crawling under skin - comments made to ache in years gone by. All sign of adolescence had abandoned their arguments, only the skeleton of loathing remained. Though truly unaware of how obvious this new dynamic displayed itself to the X Factor, he was hugely conscious of his appearance around Remy - as if the entire tale could be told from the delay of a response or the falter of the lip. 

It is simply easier to feel anger than it is to face your feelings and oh boy, did Pietro have a lot of those. 

Thus, he sulked alone - blinds drawn - in the recluse of his apartment. Slumped into a chair, Pietro let out a breathy sigh, coming to regret the predicament he found hims of in. He was now rendered incapable of tolerating Remy's presence without the haunting memories of days past, unable to shake the reminder of those careful hands and how they can mercilessly pin him down. Pietro couldn't decide whether he was grateful that their daily lives had little change, or if he was disappointed of the fact - he wasn't exactly expecting Remy hold his hand or to cuddle him to sleep at night - he just… expected a little more softness. 

Pietro frowned, icy brows creasing together, his eyes unfocused on a single pen sat on his desk as inner turmoil peeked through his glacier eyes. At the drop of a hat, he felt his busy blood begin to rush around his body, his cold cheeks tinting crimson. So what? Gambit would never change. He's an arrogant, no good, scruffy-looking asshole and Pietro furiously vowed to never let a third time transpire. No more Remy Lebeau. 

Sighing defeatedly, he suddenly smacked a slap into the surface of his desk, watching unsatisfied as it slowly slammed into the surface. No more Remy Lebeau. 

 

 

The mission was simple. The area of attack like adjacent to the entrance, the primary subject stood static in position, barricaded by a single barrier, though straightforwardly infiltrated. Pietro decided that two or three runs should be sufficient for an optimum outcome. He stood in correct posture, against the wall closest to the opening, awaiting the right moment to pounce - his fingers twitching against the cool handle of the door.   
Upon the correct cue, he hurriedly zipped out of his apartment room, down into the kitchen, zooming past his chatty co-workers, and straight to the fridge - yanking it open to gather as much junk as possible before bolting back to his bedroom. He rapidly peated this with the rest of the cupboards. 

Unaware, the others bantered back and forth - teasing comments and harmless insults thrown between themselves. On his third run, Pietro couldn't help but drag his eyes over Gambit's bare torso, covered haphazardly by a yellow fleece robe - couldn't help but watch as his hands dragged over the brown scruff of stubble as his eyes arched into a smug sickle, lounged lazily, his hair tousled, invading more sofa-space than necessary for one man. He briefly passed the kitchen table, aiming directly for the door one last time, except, he couldn't help but Snoop into the conversation this instance. He witnessed, stupidly stuck in slow motion, as the passing comment left Lorna's lips. 

 

“You were asking for that slap when you kissed me” 

If, if, there were a reason that Pietro completely lost his footing and slammed directly into the side of the doorframe, it would absolutely not be related to the burning anger that erupted suddenly in his chest. Cover blown, he toppled to the ground in pity, comically landing on his back with a clang - snack foods accompanying their escort, landing in a clump at his chest. He recollected himself, haphazardly hauling himself back onto his flimsy feet, speeding over to the table with a sham self assurance. Can't be embarrassed if it doesn't break you. 

“You kissed Lorna?” He pressed, more of an exclamation than a question. 

The room fell silent, his booming bellow cutting through the atmosphere as if it were paper. Like a deer in the headlights, the X Factor sat purplexed, staring at the hotheaded Maximoff. His snow-white hair seemed to grow sharper under stress, his smouldering eyes widened whilst his brows began to knot against the other. His eyes burned holes into Remy's - the red now crimson under the bright lights of the kitchen, so beaming compared to the bullet black eyes that scuffed his uniform. 

 

Ever the mediator, Lorna interrupted. 

“I took care of him myself, Pietro. Gave him a slap so hard you'd swear I'd charged a Four of Diamonds.” 

Quicksilver stayed stock-still, like a distressed statue. He managed a brief glance to Lorna's place at the table before boring back into Remy's lounging frame, reading the amusement that sat behind his features, as if he were elated at the sight of Pietro under friendly interrogation. As if he could read the jealousy written all over that pale face. 

Jealousy. 

Pietro was jealous.

Remy remained languid, taking his sweet time to roll his broad shoulders and drawl his response. 

“Too right. Swear ya’ gave Remy a concussion.” he continued. “Nothin’ to get ya’ panties in a twist over, Princess. Lorna don't need no big brother to protect her.” 

Remy winked. Pietro wanted to throttle him.

As if the belittlement of Remy calling him Princess, in front of their gawking team members, wasn’t embarrassing enough, Pietro also had to live alone with the shame of his stomach dropping shamefully at the remark. He visibly flushed, a feat uneasily concealed on his clearer complexion, and the subtle quirk of disheveled brow told Pietro that Gambit didn't let that piece of information slip, either. 

Forcing himself to fracture from Remy's eyes, he met Lorna's - calculating and careful, contemplating the situation. Then Warlock's worried frame, Danger's cold metal, and Doug's frail gaze - the latter instantly tore away, cautious of facing the wrath of Quicksilver. Acutely aware of the severe silence fallen because of his temper, feeling the pressure of each pair of eyes currently glued to his lithe frame, Pietro simply walked away. 

 

Night fell hours after. Shadows began to fall gracefully onto the ground, consuming the apartment in a veil of brooding blackness. The household had long since excused themselves into their private quarters, valuing the peace of night in the seclusion of their own company; there is a lifelong intimacy in inviting someone to occupy you at night. 

Remy lazed in the warm-dim of his room, the kittens padding around the bed on grand adventures of their own. Clad in nothing but the pyjama bottoms he found in a random drawer, his hair gracelessly splayed over his pillow, he tried to sink into his surroundings.   
Chalky-white sheets, oak-wood walls, the perfect clean of the floor; he felt as if he lived in a model show home. Unaccustomed to the necessity of clothing drawers or the luxury of decorative pillows. The cats were the only feature of his room that felt like...his. Figaro nibbled lightly on the tip of his large finger, and Remy couldn't help but chuckle at the cute little creature, flicking his nose softly and scratching the snow fur between his white ears. He could forever live in contentment so long as he had his furry companions. 

 

The tranquility of the moment was lost as Pietro Maximoff slammed open the door of his room, mercilessly startling Figaro away from his position of rest, and charged in to the foot of his bed, glaring down at Remy as if he were avenging a vendetta. 

“wh- Ya’ can't jus’ barge in here!” Remy exclaimed, bolting upright to hopelessly reach for the retreating Figaro, - begrudgingly accepting the loss and sliding his feet onto cold laminate to shoo the Maximoff away. 

Pietro held his ground, peering stubbornly up as the taller approached him. He could spy his attempt of a threatening front from a mile away, though to Remy, he appeared more like a petulant child - glaring up at him with butter knives rather than daggers. 

“Why did you kiss Lorna” 

Remy blinked. 

“'cus I wanted to” he replied, regarding the smaller as he inched closer, feeling his punching breaths flashing against his face. “She looked kissable, so I kissed her.”

He assumed that was the wrong answer, if Pietro's swing was any hint to go by. 

He was too fast, the little shit. He caught Remy in a right hook, bruising the side of his stubbled jaw and swiftly speeding away. Remy could barely raise a hand to cradle it before another caught the underside - he staggered backwards, punching a cry of pain out of his chest. It had been awhile since he had recalled the taste of blood. 

Pietro flashed before him, and, in a stroke of luck, he blindly seized him; his slight wrist trapped in bruising grip. Slathers of silver hair toppled into his pale face, cold-blue eyes forcing through the strands to glare at Remy. Whilst mercilessly twisting Pietro around, tearing a painful cry ripping from his throat, Gambit's tan hand came to wrap into the man's springy hair; he yanked hard, throwing Pietro gracelessly over to a hauntingly familiar oak doors, ramming him against it. 

Even their heartbeats raced each other, competitively panting violent breaths against pink lips. Somewhere in the wreckage, Remy had caught the other wrist in his grasp - Pietro was now completely restrained, his front pinned against the door such as a savage animal is held down, crimson cheeks completely compressed against cool wood. Disheveled and wild eyed, they scoured at the other; blood savagely smeared against stubbled jaw. Gambit pressed forward, his drawl breathless. 

“You don' gotta act up to get my attention, cher”

Pietro's breath hitched, though he rapidly replied, dripping disdain. 

“I don't want your attention.”

That tore a rumbling chuckle from Remy, his thin lips dragged up into a snide smirk. 

“Darlin’, you could break outta here faster than I could say princess.” he hissed. “You're here 'cus you waltzed in wit’ your knickers all in a knot over a smooch.” 

Pietro pathetically wriggled, weakly writhing in his grip,; only proving his point. Gambit pushed closer, his hips brushing against his behind, pressing lips to ears. “All that bravado you pulled...that machismo...all that 'cus you missed me?” 

What a pleasure it was to watch Pietro Maximoff flush scarlet with each word of taunt, staring with the satisfaction that it were his words encouraging slender hips to slowly sway against his own. Remy was barely even touching him - he could unpick Pietro solely with whispers of honey-coated honesty. 

“I haven't laid a finger on you for weeks” Pietro hissed, heaving his shoulders around to throw Remy a dirty look. A sharp tug on white locks had him arching, his lips swearing at no one but the ceiling. 

“Been counting, have we?” Remy teased. He couldn't help but greedily follow the way Pietro's adams apple bobbed, flexing the fingers felted into his hair. 

“If you don’ wan’ me to touch ya’, tell me not to, Cher. I'll let you go at the drop of a hat. I don' go where I'm not invited, me.” 

“Fuck you” Pietro spat, his brows fighting to stitch together, he writhed once more. 

“Tell me no, Pietro” he insisted, his finger's hold slackened in reassurance, though his tone still stern. “Tell me you don’ wan’ me, Pietro” 

Pietro stopped struggling as Gambit's fingers fell loose - he made no effort to shove Remy away - instead, he took his time swallowing a short breath and whispered his consent to the taller; pleading and compliant under Remy's fingers. 

“...don't stop” 

“my, aren’ you a rude boy. What do we say?”

Pietro inhaled shakily. 

“Don't stop please”

Remy grinned triumphantly, gripping firmly onto the boy's hair once more and yanked him away from the door, haphazardly hauling him onto his bed - Pietro dragged his feet, compliant, though adamant to make Remy's job harder. Gambit allowed it - the fight that came with taming Pietro Maximoff just made the pleasure of conquering him more glorious. 

Remy's gigantic fingers sprawled across Pietro's reddened cheek whilst pinning his hands against the small of that agile back. Flushing skin seemed to only blossom darker displayed against stark white, those blue eyes seemed so bright when drenched in arousal - it was so god damn adorable. Remy couldn't wait to tear him apart. 

 

“there's a good boy” he uttered, taking his time to deliberately drawl over each word. 

“ you can avoid an’ curse an’ punch at me all ya like, mon cher, but I know you still need this. Ya' lemme catch ya, ya’ wriggle 'cus ya know I'll jus’ hold tighter” 

I wonder...

He smoothly skated swaying fingertips over crimson cheeks, outlining his strong jaw, burning the image of panting, petted Pietro into his brain. He was stubbornly silent, dealing his lips tightly and bearing teeth - the promise of a peep imprisoned behind pursed lips. Remy was desperate to break him. 

 

“are you gon’ behave and stay put?” he gripped both Pietro's hands in his own. “or, do I gotta tie you to my bed, nice n’ pretty?” 

A choked whine caught in Pietros throat, barely escaping tenacious lips. 

“Oh, 'course - you'd like that, wouldn’ you?” Gambit grinned. “ask nicely, sugar, an’ maybe I'll give it to you.”

Pietro suddenly wrangled, thrashing violently under his hold. Gambit clamped both of his hands down in a bruising grip

“Ask, Pietro. Use ya' words, Cher. I ain't gon’ decide for you jus’ cause you give me a lil trouble. You wan’ it? You ask.” 

What an honour it was to watch the dignity drain from Maximoff, his body falling limp. Half lidded, he mumbled into the sheets - muffling his plea. 

“Hmm?” Remy feigned innocence, a smirk smoothly sliding stubbled cheeks. 

“Please tie me” it sounded more a confession than a request - a glimpse of where his mind wandered in the wasted weeks.  
The realisation that he hadn't kissed Pietro in weeks hit like a brick - immediately his hands mourned how the man's face felt tiny when engulfed, how he kissed with the worry of someone desperate to sample all, just in case it ended too soon.   
He released Pietro, giving him no time to wring his wrists before manhandling him onto his back - kissing like he was desperate I to steal each and every breath he had. Pietro reciprocated as if it hurt, lapping the blood away and groaning wildly into his mouth; nails scraping into any exposed part of Remy he could reach. Gambit hissed, tugging on untamed hair once to grab Pietro's attention. 

“Be a darlin’, go get my coat. It's in the closet” he ordered, letting go of his hold and stepping to stand. Pietro eyed him suspiciously, shaky arms propping him upwards, though he obeyed - suddenly flashing in front of Remy, walnut overcoat dangling from his fingertips. God, did he hate when he did that - the urge to tie his feet together for the rest of his life grew too strong. 

“Thank you” Remy accepted it, fiddling his fingers over the tattered surface until he found the belt and unsheathed it's loops.  
He held it back out to Pietro, who considered him with wide eyes for a moment, before returning with his hands empty. He now gazed expectantly up to Remy, his gaze dropping to the belt in his hands for a second before returning. The power Pietro presented to him was intoxicating. Completely intoxicating. Gambit felt himself harden at the sight.   
He looked younger when he wasn't scowling, though the bright eyes that shone at Remy seemed so fragile. In a way, he wished that Pietro were still preaching profanities - Remy's fantasies we're almost too cruel for the sweet boy in front of him. 

Almost. 

He gestured for Pietro to spin with a twirl of his finger, as if he were training a puppy. Pietro's eyes fired slightly, he could read the temptation to disobey in the clench of Pietro's fist and the scrunch of his face. Still, he spun, even crossing his arms behind his back. 

“fast at learnin’ too, huh?” Remy teased, beginning to work the belt into a knot around his wrists. 

“What, it take you longer to learn how to turn?” He bravely mocked.   
At that moment, Gambit tugged the ends of the tie fiercely - wickedly winding his wrists and forearms tightly together, forcing his shoulders to be slightly uncomfortable. Pietro healed far too quickly for Gambit to worry about permanent damage, and he knew the man secretly loved the markings. 

“mutts don’ usually obey on the first whistle, cher.” Remy spun Pietro around by the shoulder, pushing him to sit on the edge of his bed.   
He watched Pietro's sights eagery dance from his own, down his bare chest, and settle on his crotch - pupils wide, as if he had been waiting for this moment. He moved to knees, like a night in kneel with his arms concealed. Remy halted him - pushing the image of Pietro beary eyes and swallowing his cock to the back of his mind. Another time, he promised himself. He had a mission to complete.   
His hand hooked around Pietro's strained bicep, forcibly dragging him back to sit, the boy bouncing slightly on impact. Gambit then pushed his legs apart, and dropped to kneel between them. 

Honestly? Refusing head was worth every millisecond of watching Pietro's pretty lips drop.   
Remy curiously ran a hand under Pietro's top - the Serval hoodie that he seemed to live in - muscle memory guiding him over the familiar tone of abdomen and skimming around to his back. Pietro buzzed under his touch, ever-so-slightly twitching his hips and arching as Remy stroked sensitive spots. Fingertips patiently waltzed across Pietro's waistband, dipping slightly under the black fabric before surfacing again. Each repetition made Pietro groan in frustration, Gambit's face laced into a cheeky grin with each whine.   
Remy ran his thick fingers over his torso once more, driving directly across the valley of his chest, the hoodie bundling against his wrist. He reached Pietro's throat, wrapping one hand around the base of it whilst the other collected the hem and pushed against Pietro's pursed lips - the boy slowly accepting it between his teeth. Remy briskly pecked over the fabric and hastily moved down Pietro's fair chest, covering him with open mouth kisses. He was practically smooth, what little hair he sported far too light to be noticable. Gambit knew he grew white all over - instance number two was mostly spent nosing at the thick patch of hair growing at his base. His knees were bruised for weeks. 

He flatly dragged his tongue over Pietro's flushed nipple, it stood pink and perked against pale, and the muffled moan it wrung from Pietro was delicious. He arched gracefully against Remy's mouth, all fair and toned and gagged like a fucking Michelangelo painting.   
He wanted to steal this image for himself, wanted to lock the picture of pleasured Pietro away somewhere only he knew - away from prying eyes. A surge of territoriality compelled him to bite down hard on his nipple, intending his teeth marks into his chest, giving the same treatment to the other.   
Remy dropped to nose at the trail of hair dropping into his trousers, nibbling at Pietro's prominent hip bones, his fingers inching their way into his waistband and torturously trailing them down his thighs. Pietro strained to lift his hips, allowing Remy to drag the fabric over his ass and into a pile at his feet. His underwear joined soon after, leaving Pietro bare from the waist down. 

Taking sweet time, he mapped out kisses, starting at Pietro's toned calf and working his way up to his milky inner thighs, repeating the treatment on the other. Feeling the man tremble under his fingers with anticipation was addictive, he fanned his fingers out over the runner's slim thighs just to grip a bruise into his skin. Pietro’s restless wriggling screamed impatience. He made no effort to speed up. 

His inner thighs were sensitive, softer than the rest of his body, and Gambit's palms brushed over them just to see how Pietro preened. His slim body folded over Remy, eyes screwed shut and mouth worrying the fabric clamped between - Gambit wondered if his useless fingers were itching to clutch onto something, anything. He bit harshly into the meat of the boy's thigh, basking in the strained cry fallen from Pietro - the hoodie slowly sliding from his lips, still rucked up against his bitten chest. 

He took that as his opportunity to grip Pietro’s thighs and swiftly swallow his pink cock down, hollowing his cheeks and fluttering his eyes closed. Above him, Pietro obscenely gasped, his hips violently bucking against the steady hold. Remy scraped his nails against Pietro’s ass and down to his thighs, a trail of red welts following his fingers, just to make a point. Behave, stay still. A flick of Remy’s tongue had Pietro hopelessly thrashing against the confines of his tie, his strained moans pornographic, and a hard stroke of his hand had Pietro’s legs frantically bouncing.

Remy could only hope to god that his cats were somewhere destroying his clothes or pissing off Lorna. He made a mental note to let them out next time. 

 

“Remy- God, Remy” Pietro choked out, the obscenity going straight to Remy’s dick.  
How was he supposed to hear his name ever again after hearing Pietro’s strained plead? 

He pulled off, stroking Pietro’s pretty cock with his hand instead, his cheek coming to rest against the man’s shaking thigh. 

“Not God, close enough though” he teased. 

Pietro’s flush covered the entirety of his complexion, spanning to dust his ears pink and trailing down his neck. With white brows tugged upwards, rosy lips that had fallen open to pant and whine fervently, and his blue eyes scrunched away from sight - he looked ruined. Completely and Positively ruined. He hesitant opened one eyelid, then the other, peering down at Remy. 

“C’mon” He beckoned with a half hearted roll of his hips, his voice weak and feigning demand. “Remy, back to work, c'mon, I'm close.” 

He pretended to ponder a moment, humming just for show and beginning to twist his hand quicker around Pietro’s dick. The latter whined in response, rolling his shoulders back and fluttering his eyes closed expectantly.

“No” he deadpanned, suddenly stalling. Pietro’s eyes desperately flinging back open, looking to Gambit as if he couldn’t believe it. His hips canted upwards for friction, though Remy simply clamped his hands down onto them. 

“Remy” he whined. 

“No, cher. What did I say earlier? You gotta ask if you wan’ somethin’” He couldn't help the smirk that wiped across his face evilly. “Convince me.” 

“Go to hell” Pietro spat, frustrated and wriggling in his binds. Remy promptly sank his mouth onto Pietro once more, smugly relishing in the whine it earned him. He worked into a rhythm until the moans filthy falling onto him became too frequent, until Pietro’s legs began to tremble, and pulled off once more. 

Still Pietro stubbornly refused to crack - the man would whine and moan and writhe each time Remy took him to the edge and yet he remained silent. He had to crack him, he needed to hear how much Pietro needed him. 

“What’s holdin’ you back, sugar? Surely it ain’t your dignity?” Remy licked his lips, slicked with saliva and precome. “Jus’ beg for me, baby. Is all I’m askin’”

“Y-you're such an a-asshole” Pietro managed through grit teeth, sweat beading down his face and dampening snow strands

“S'not very nice thing to say to the guy getting you off.” 

“You’re being not very nice” 

“I can do, jus’ gotta ask me to be” 

“Never-ah!” Pietro was cut off by his own moan, Remy's hand tugging his dripping cock slowly. 

“All wrapped up like my own birthday present an’ your worried ‘bout your pride?” he drawled, ignoring how Pietro's abdomen flexed with each whine that escaped. “Shame, really. You sounded so purdy’ last time...finishing right in my mouth. Didn’ taste half bad either” 

Pietro suddenly fell backwards onto the bed with the next stroke, arching helplessly against the sheets with a guttural moan - no hands to brace him through the touch. He grovelled words in foreign tongue as his legs restlessly kicked - Remy fiercely steadied them as he calmly fell forwards, following Pietro up the bed and taking him briefly back into his mouth. 

“Ask, Pietro.” Gambit ordered, receiving nothing but a desperate whine in response.

“Pietro” he warned again, peeling back once last time witness the man wildly writhing and twitching. He looked...beautiful - so wrecked, so ruined under Remy's touch. 

Remy could have bellowed songs of praise when Pietro finally choked out: 

“Remy, please, your mouth..please. oh God, please, make me cum, please, Remy.” 

Well, how could he refuse that? 

“There's a good boy” Remy grinned, relentlessly taking Pietro into his mouth and sinking to his base, carving crescents into the meat of his thighs as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked and licked and did everything he could to keep Pietro sinfully mewling to the ceiling as if he were mourning his place in heaven. Good - he were better off with Remy in hell, anyway. 

“Remy, please, I'm gonna-” his throat broke into a cracked moan, followed by a Russian plea Remy couldn't understand 

“Yeah yeah, baby, c'mon, I gotcha’” Remy muttered, tugging on his slick cock quickly and firmly. That pornstar mouth was gonna be the death of Remy Lebeau. 

He came hotly onto Remy's fingers, his thighs clamping together firmly as he arched in a grand finale, collapsing in a panting pile on Remy's bed after he had finished. Remy took a few steady breaths before coming to lean over Pietro, holding his long fingers out to press against his lips. 

“Be a darlin’ an’ clean me off” he ordered sweetly, a hand running through Pietro's drenched locks as the man's lips closed around Remy's fingers. He licked each one lazily, letting Remy slide his fingers over his tongue, too boneless to do anything but accept. He let Remy roll him over to untie his wrists, he didn't refuse when Remy tenderly kissed the pulse point on each, and didn't run for dear life when Remy pulled him under his covers and stroked through his hair. 

He looked... precious. Pietro Maximoff looked adorable, all fucked out and exhausted, sinking into the sheets as if it were a little slice of heaven. Something fluttered inside Remy's chest, but there was no time to question the nuisance as little Lucifer leaped suddenly onto the mattress, brushing up against Pietro's limp hand and venturing up to rub against his flushed cheek. His long nose twitched at the tickle, and Remy couldn't help but chuckle at the kitten's inconvenient exploration.   
Gambit wrapped his palm around his little orange body with a prrrp and hoisted him into his chest, stroking his fuzzy little cheek with fond. 

“Tell me ya’ didn’ see all that, ya’ lil shit”

“Meooow” he received in response, chuckling to himself and stroking both Lucifer and Pietro's wild maine as they sank to sleep. 

Sneaking a glance at Pietro's unconscious frame, he sighed, and promised himself that this wouldn't become a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever just write smut for the first time 
> 
> pls leave kudos n stuff i see y'all lurkin!!
> 
> come scream w me on tumblr: noscrawler.tumblr.com


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